Lindi Ortega has ‘a penchant for darkness’
Lindi Ortega is a dark poet steering clear of the traps of genre
Searching for online interviews before my phone conversation with alt-country poster girl Lindi Ortega, I kept reading about her hard slog — economic and otherwise — as a nuanced dark poet in a world of brain dead, monolithic “bro-country.”
She wasn’t complaining, just stating the reality — that veering off-track in the age of corporate radio is like being a Parkland activist at an NRA rally.
Which prompts the question, why not write one good ol’ boy redneck anthem, reap the financial rewards, then return to the moody indie roots Americana sound that made her a cult star?
“I don’t believe in writing songs I’m not invested in,” counters the offbeat troubadour, a two-time Polaris Prize nominee whose evocative tunes about longing and regret place her somewhere between Emmylou Harris and Amy Winehouse.
“I wouldn’t just wake up tomorrow and say, ‘I’m gonna write a bro-country hit and make a million dollars.’”
How hard could it be? “I’m in love with my truck. My girlfriend is hot. Hand me a beer” — it’s a million seller.
“I know a lot of people write in that medium,” responds the 37-year-old Toronto native, not as humorously as I had hoped. “It’s really not that easy, or everyone would be doing it.
“Seven guys and a girl singing about some girl in tight jeans ... (sardonic pause) ... how difficult is it to be a woman in country music?”
And then there’s the obstacle faced by every true artist bent on commercial capitulation: integrity.
It may get you glowing reviews on Pitchfork, but can make paying the bills a real challenge.
“If you’re talking about the commercial industry, I’m a huge failure and shouldn’t be making any more records,” she points out candidly.
“I put out a spaghetti western record — with instrumentals. I don’t really know anyone else who’s done that!’’
That album is “Liberty,” a cinematic concept album about the journey from darkness to light inspired by the moody soundtracks of Oscar-winning composer Ennio Morricone and the homage-fuelled retro films of Quentin Tarantino.
As befits a woman tilting at windmills most of her professional life, Ortega announces its outlier status not with regret but almost cheerful defiance.
“For me it’s not about chasing any kind of carrot with this industry,” she notes succinctly. “The biggest success for me is when I reach somebody.”
In this sense, she’s the biggest thing since Dr. Phil, having recently penned a well-received essay for the feminist newsletter
Lenny about body-dysmorphic disorder (BDD), a psychological condition in which people become obsessed with imaginary defects in their appearance and made Ortega perceive herself as “a fragmented Picasso painting on acid.”
“It was important to me to speak out,” she confides, having struggled with BDD since her teens before wrestling it into submission with the help of therapy.
“The fact it has such a high suicide rate really breaks my heart.”
That tone of self-reflective despair, ironically, has an upside, infusing her music with a depth and gravity it might otherwise not possess.
“I would be lying if I said pieces of me don’t end up in the songs I write,” notes the Juno-nominated maverick, residing in Calgary after five years plowing the musical back-roads in Nashville.
“I have a penchant for darkness. Life isn’t always a positive reinforcement meme on Instagram.”
She laughs. “I love a good murder ballad like anybody else.”
She’s had success, to be sure — critical acclaim, award nominations, high-profile musical pairings — and if you listen to her moody rendition of ’60s ballad “To Love Somebody,” you will never view The Bee Gees in the same way.
But she hasn’t “made it” in the traditional sense. She’s not a household name. They don’t play her music on commercial radio.
“I don’t fit in the country world. I don’t fit in the pop world,” she notes without regret.
“Because I felt very alienated, I ended up writing songs that were lonely and sad, because I knew they would make me feel better. Having that understanding helps fuel introspection for a lot of my songs.”
She pauses, at peace with her career arc. “I’m not angry. I’m not bitter or jaded. I’m happy with my modest existence as an artist.”